A Memory
by Haitorei
Summary: Loneliness incurs a memory. A memory incurs an action. An action incurs a lifetime. Sakura is left with only a recollection of the man she loves. All she has is a photo album with memories, so she makes some of her own. But at what price? Narusaku.


A short little drabble I wrote in about half an hour. Just some interesting musings I felt like publishing. Enjoy.

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When did it get like this? Sakura mused as she silently passed Ichiraku's, nodding only to Ayame. When did it all just go away? The three years were certainly going by slowly. Jiraiya sure could take his goddamn time. Didn't he get it – didn't _any_ of them get it? She needed it… sure, she was slow to realize it. But she had finally got it! She was finally ready, but… She knocked out of habit on his empty apartment door before realizing it was too late. He had just left – long ago. Without even saying goodbye. She needed it before…

A sixth of a year ago she would have gladly given all the world for the deafening raucous that pierced her ear drums every morning. What made it worse was the intrusive adjective he constantly attached to her name – since when the hell was he allowed to call her that, anyways? But now, as she slowly remembered it, the strident chords transformed into harmonic melodies, and the rhythms of her previous days instead became syncopated, unable to match.

When had she stopped caring about what Ino said and instead sought sanctuary in the daydreams of her own imagination? Thinking of all the various opportunities she had to grasp him in his arms, or all the various scenarios missions had provided for her… She slowly turned around, heading back to the Hokage's Tower. Tsunade-sama was calling for her, regarding the condition. She hadn't found a cure… It was inevitable.

Two months ago, it was the idiotic banter Naruto boisterously cluttered the air with. Now? Now it morphed into comic, albeit immature, relief from her highly stressful day. She recalled Naruto tripping over a twig and blaming the chuunin next to him for purposefully tripping him; needless to say _she_ was the one nursing his wounds that evening. She accidently giggled out loud at his endearing childishness.

What had made her, the greatest apprentice of Tsunade-sama, stop in her tracks with fear? Was it the fear of losing him? It couldn't be – the blonde dunce would always be after her… Wouldn't he? No, it wasn't that. Then what was it? Her hand trembled as she pondered the scenarios. Returning to the world, she cut through the dead patient, completing her autopsy. Her last hope was now gone. _Gone_! Didn't they get it? Any of them…

Sixty one days prior to this one, his dim and unintelligent solutions only proved his dim-witted view of the world, his plans never able to make space for the inevitable consequences of life, never considering others in his equations. But her memory once again betrayed her. She now remembered his simple mindset, seeing the world with quiet insights, his obtuse ignorance of others as confidence in his own abilities and faithfulness to his own identity. Naruto carried himself with a dignity that shut out the pessimism her world had drowned her in.

Why had she started wearing her hair short? Did Naruto like it? He saw her cut it at the Chuunin Exams – didn't he? She had done it for… She blushed shamefully. She had done it for herself. She looked up at the picture of Team Seven placed gently next to her bed side. She had done it so that Naruto could stop constantly having to defend her… So that she could stand up for herself and be a kunoichi. She had done it to get strong. To… She chuckled. To be like Naruto. Since when had she become soft?

One thousand four hundred and sixty-four hours ago his relentless, pathetic attempts at asking her out were mere nuisances she overlooked throughout the course of the day. The beatings inevitable potholes on the road to Sasuke. But her recollection softened those blows, turning those insistent proposals into shows of faithfulness, caring, and even love. She longed for the attention Naruto always paid to her – ignoring everything at her expense. The minute scooting of seats closer to her, the tiny hand gestures, or small preparations he childishly made now shone through as proofs… So many proofs he had left with her all as transient reminiscences.

What had made her start considering what exactly was her type? Sakura glanced at the album of pictures she had collected through a series of missions. The first few reams, filled with D Rank missions, usually showed a frustrated and scratched up Naruto, a deathly ill cat, and three others merely watching Naruto's antics. She smiled as she saw Konahamaru and his group of friends stacking up a big stack of boxes for their boss. Naruto was pouting screaming "Taller! Fatter! Sakura-chan needs to sit here, make it more comfortable." He was always good with children.

Eighty-seven thousand, eight hundred and forty minutes ago she could not have cared less whether Naruto became a Chuunin. Now she found herself hoping, praying, that his dreams would one day materialize, and he would walk proudly to the top of the Hokage Monument to find his own mug chiseled in. One day, she wished, Naruto would guide the village – '_and be forced to deal with many frustrated genins, tired of getting D-Rank missions_' she thought as she passed through a picture of Naruto and the Sandaime.

Why was life so unfair? It simply wasn't fair. Now that Sakura had finally… Naruto was grabbing the Sandaime's hat and wearing it, grinning it from ear to ear with a double thumbs up. Again, Naruto was on top of the Hokage Monument which was filled with scribbled in drawings. He had found himself a family. She uncreased a doggy-ear on the picture with Inari and his family. He had forged one out of bonds, and he was only going to strengthen as time passed.

Five million two hundred and seventy thousand four hundred seconds ago, Haruna Sakura would not have considered herself in love. Tears began their journey downward as she mouthed for the first time, the fateful three words. For the first time, she confessed out loud – screaming what Tsunade had already predicted.

"I'm dying, Naruto." Sakura sobbed violently, breaking down. She coughed as blood spurted up and onto the photo album. Her eyes widened with the realization that it was happening already. Tsunade had estimated at least another week.

Her teammate was gone… far away. She wouldn't even get to see him… one last time. She wouldn't get to say goodbye either.

The coughs became increasingly violent, and just as she was about to take out her emergency inhaler, she felt rough hands on her shoulder. They were calloused with kunai and shuriken use. She looked up and saw blonde hair swaying in a gentle zephyr. Radiantly azure eyes met emerald. As she gasped for more air, she was trapped in a pleasant vacuum. She wheezed but her lungs were met instead of air with soft, warm lips. They caressed her carefully, encapsulating her entirely. She smiled softly as she lay her head down. The coughs had stopped. Naruto could cure anything… everything…

One second ago, a pink cherry blossom was suffering, a crimson passion coursing through her veins as she coped with the torture.

Now? She lay in sanctuary, rested and unmoving. The passion doused, and the pale kiss of nostalgia lay on her satisfied lips.

The memories of the two came to life – all the memories Sakura had created for herself, silently wishing they were true. The inexplicable scenarios, the perfect combinations… all of it was true! Death asked but a small price: a single memory was revoked and undone… her birth. She sighed contentedly, the last breath of life leaking from her unmoving corpse.

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-- Haitorei


End file.
